


Guess What

by Piscaria



Category: Francesca Lia Block - Weetzie Bat series
Genre: F/M, Yuletide, challenge:Yuletide 2007, recipient:Thistlerose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 19:47:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piscaria/pseuds/Piscaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Cherokee discovers that she's pregnant, she runs away from the apartment she shares with Raphael to find herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guess What

When I grow up.

Cherokee Bat mouthed the words as she watched the second hand travel around the clock. "When I grow up." Crazy, she thought, that kids grew up saying those words, chanting them like a spell to bring the future closer. As a little girl, she'd dreamt about growing up to be an actress or a singer. She'd wanted to dress as glamorously as her mother, Weetzie, and to be as strong and silent as their friend, Coyote. Cherokee had been in movies with her family, and she'd sang on nightclub stages with her old band, The Goat Guys. She had a closet full of gorgeous homemade clothes. She'd run barefoot through the LA canyons with feathers in her hair. But at nineteen, Cherokee didn't feel like a grown-up yet. In fact, she was wishing she were still a little girl.

The second hand crawled, and Cherokee hugged herself, wishing that Raphael were there. He would have stayed home with her, if she'd asked him to. He didn't even know that she was skipping class. If he were there, he would sit on the edge of the bathtub with her, and hold her hand. He'd sing to her while they waited for the clock to run its course. Cherokee frowned and drummed her heels against the side of the bathtub. Normally, she loved their bathroom. They'd filled it with sparkling white lights and dense jungle ferns, scented candles, jars of seashells, dried roses, quartz crystals, feathers, and velvety towels that were almost as thick as blankets. Cherokee had braided the bathroom rugs herself, and she'd embroidered the curtains that fluttered in the breeze. The air from outside smelled like oranges and the sea.

The smell reminded Cherokee of how beautiful Raphael had looked when he'd gone surfing that morning, with jewels of salt water sliding down his body, and his dreadlocks flying behind him. He'd looked like a sea god, poised on his board, the sea spray catching the light around him. Even now, the memory made Cherokee's heart swell in her chest. Usually, she joined him on the waves, but that morning, she'd wrapped herself in a blanket and settled on the sand to watch. She'd said she had cramps, and he didn't question her. They'd been together so long that he knew her body's cycles almost as well as she did. It was time for her period to start.

After surfing, they'd come home to shower and change. She'd kissed him goodbye and settled down at the kitchen table with her textbooks, pretending to study before her own class started. As soon as the door clicked shut, she'd stood and crossed to the bathroom, retrieving the pregnancy kit from where she'd hidden it in her make-up bag. Now she sat and waited for it to finish.

She thought about Weetzie. Had she waited for a test like this, twenty years ago, her nails cutting into her palm? Cherokee couldn't imagine that she'd waited alone -- surely Dirk and Duck would have been there with her. They'd told her the story so many times, how Weetzie had wanted a baby, but My Secret Agent Lover Man had been afraid. Weetzie slept with him, and with her friends, Dirk and Duck, so that they wouldn't know who the father was. Cherokee had grown up with three dads and Weetzie all telling her how loved she was, how wanted.

When Cherokee was young, Weetzie had let her skip school sometimes as a special treat. Pajama days, they called them. They stayed home together, in pajamas, of course, and ate Weetzie's whole-wheat blueberry waffles with organic peanut butter. Cherokee poured fresh-squeezed orange juice into champaigne flutes, and they toasted each other. Afterwards, they'd lounge around, watch movies, paint their toenails, and play with make-up. Cherokee always loved those days, at least until Witch Baby came home from school, her purple eyes full of resentment. Weetzie always invited Witch Baby to stay home with them for pajama days, and Witch Baby always shrugged her off, heading to school with her shoulders bunched high in her hooded sweatshirt. It wasn't until later that Cherokee realized that her sister felt more comfortable in a room full classmates who didn't talk to her than with her family.

Cherokee thought of Witch Baby's mother, Vixanne Wigg. Had she sat like this in a bathroom somewhere, watching the second hand spin? Had she known that she would leave her baby on her lover's doorstep even then?

The thought made Cherokee clutch a hand to her stomach. She couldn't imagine leaving a baby on a doorstep, even with somebody she knew. If she had a baby, she'd want to raise it herself, to be a good mom, like Weetzie. She wanted to make glittery baby outfits. But Weetzie had wanted Cherokee, planned for her. Witch Baby had been an accident. Did that make a difference?

Cherokee closed her eyes, imagining what Raphael would say if she were pregnant. He'd barely started on his philosophy degree, and she'd just declared a major in fasion design. They'd talked about studying in Europe next year, or maybe in South America. Could they travel with a baby in tow? Would they need to quit school and work?

The alarm on the clock went off and Cherokee stood. She crossed to the sink, and lifted the little plastic stick from the counter. She looked at it, swallowed, and threw it away.

* * *

When Raphael came home, Cherokee sat at the kitchen table, staring down at her hands. He knew right away that something was wrong.

"What is it, Kee?" he asked.

Cherokee swallowed.

"I'm pregnant," she said.

It felt like time stood still for a second, like the world was going as glassy and still as the stained glass windows in the house that Cherokee's family used to live in, where Dirk and Duck still stayed. She watched his eyes go wide with shock. Then he was dropping his messenger bag and crossing the room to hold her.

"Oh, baby," he whispered.

Cherokee clung to his shoulders and pressed her face against his chest. The familiar drum rhythm of his heartbeat comforted her, and she closed her eyes, letting him rock her like a little girl. When she finally dared to glance up at his face, he was smiling.

"You're not mad?" she asked.

Raphael shook his head. Reverently, he lifted the hem of her shirt and lay his cocoa-colored hand against her pale, flat stomach. She knew that they were both thinking the same thing: how could she possibly have a baby? No matter how much she ran and surfed, Cherokee always felt too small and pale. She tried to imagine her belly stretching and growing. She tried to imagine herself walking with the same grace she'd seen in other pregnant women.

"How could I be mad, my Cherokee White Dawn?" he said. "We will have a beautiful baby together."

Cherokee imagined a tiny cuddle of a baby, with Raphael's cocoa-powder skin and her blue eyes. It would grow up to be a slinkster poet man or a girl love warrior. They'd make sure it grew up surrounded by paintings, books, and music. Cherokee would make fantastic baby clothes out of feathers, and glitter, and old sheets printed with Disney characters. Raphael would paint fantastic murals of jungle birds and darting fish in the nursery. Raphael's mother, Ping, would twist the baby's hair into braids, and his father, Valentine, would carve wooden toys. Weetzie would take the baby out for ice cream sundaes when it got old enough, and My Secret would shoot home movies capturing its first steps, its first words, its first everything. Dirk would swing it into his sleek arms and dance with it while Witch Baby played the drums, and someday, Duck would teach it how to surf. Despite her fear, Cherokee felt herself smiling. They could make it work, she thought. With Raphael smiling at her, his hand warm on her stomach, she could almost make herself forget her doubts.

* * *

That night, though, Cherokee couldn't sleep. She lay awake in Raphael's arms, staring up at the spinning star mobile they'd made when they were kids. Whenever she closed her eyes, she saw visions of screaming babies left on doorsteps. She saw herself getting bigger and bigger until she suddenly gave birth to a hideous monster with too many arms and pointed teeth. She saw Weetzie looking small and frail in the lobby of a pink hotel, while Cherokee and Witch Baby circled her like clutch pirannhas.

Finally Cherokee crawled out of bed. Raphael stirred when she rose, bit didn't wake. She kissed him lightly on the forehead, and tiptoed to the closet. Opening it quietly, she began to get dressed. She tugged a pair of white, fringed jeans over her hips (how long until her favorite jeans wouldn't fit anymore?), and shrugged her homemade feathery angel jacket on over her lacy, pink, silk nightgown. Feeling like a thief, she opened her dresser and removed three pairs of underwear.

Casting a last glance back at Raphael, she smiled sadly and tiptoed out of the bedroom, closing the door behind her. In the bathroom, she brushed her hair until it rippled around her shoulders like cornsilk. She dabbed on some pink lipgloss, and studied herself in the bathroom mirror. She looked young, pretty, except for the circles under her eyes. Nobody would have guessed that she were pregnant. Cherokee smiled, and the girl in the mirror smiled back. A little shaky, but not bad, she thought.

Moving quietly, in case Raphael woke up, Cherokee rushed to gather the essentials: her hairbrush, her toothbrush, her make-up bag, her sewing kit, and her cell phone. She packed them all into her backpack, along with the spare underwear. She wrote a note to Raphael and left it leaning against the jar of roses on the kitchen table. Then she tiptoed outside and climbed behind the wheel of the blue '65 mustang she'd received as a graduation present. The street was quiet. A crescent moon gleamed over the red-tiled roof of the apartment building.

Weetzie had told her once that the moon was a goddess who transformed every month from a girl, to a woman, to a wise, old crone. Cherokee imagined that the moon was her age, a fierce huntress with a crescent bow. Did she feel as young as Cherokee? Did she know that in a few weeks she'd be as round and full? Cherokee swallowed, and turned the key in the ignition. She gave one final, longing glance towards her little bougainvillea-covered apartment, then eased the mustang into State Street.

* * *

_My Slinkster Jah-Love Man,_

_I needed to get away for a little while. Don't worry. I'll be back. I just need time to sort through things by myself. _

_I keep thinking about Weetzie, and how she needed to leave for a little while. She waited until she was forty to find herself. I don't want to wait that long. _

_Please don't tell my family I'm pregnant. I don't want them to know just yet. I'll call you in a few days. _

_Love,  
Your Cherokee White Dawn._

* * *

At first, Cherokee didn't know where she was going. When Weetzie had needed to escape, she'd gone to a pink hotel. Cherokee thought of retracing her footsteps, but she knew that Raphael would look there for her first. Besides, she would feel like a hypocrite running to that hotel after she and Witch Baby had berated Weetzie for hiding there. Witch Baby. Cherokee thought of a tiny baby crying on a doorstep, and without thinking about it, she began steering the car towards the freeway. She and her sister had never been close, but they'd united last year to talk to Weetzie. That had to count for something. Hoping that Witch Baby wouldn't mind somebody showing up on her own doorstep, Cherokee merged onto the freeway and headed north.

She reached San Francisco around noon. She stopped a few times for gas and food, and just to stretch her legs, which were used to running and surfing every day, and didn't like being crammed into a car. Her cell phone had started ringing shortly before dawn, but Cherokee ignored it. Shortly after the fifth call, she turned it off.

Even after she reached the city, it took almost an hour to find Witch Baby's apartment. Cherokee had never been there before â" in the end, she needed to stop and ask for directions. This year, Witch Baby was living in the top floor of a Victorian building. Cherokee climbed the stairs, feeling nervous and heavy with exhaustion. Her legs were cramping from being in the car for too long, and her eyes felt bleary and tired. When she knocked on the door, it was answered by a small Asian girl wearing a hooded sweatshirt with panda ears on the hood.

Cherokee had never imagined that Witch Baby might have a roommate. In her mind, she always pictured her sister living alone.

"Hi," Cherokee said. "Is Witch B- I mean, is Lily home?"

"Not yet," the girl said. "She's at class. She should be back soon."

"Oh." Cherokee toed the fraying brown carpet with her sandals, feeling suddenly awkward and unsure. "My name is Cherokee," she said. "I'm --"

"Her sister," the girl finished. She smiled. She had a gap in her front teeth; it looked very pleasant. "I've seen pictures of you. My name's Julie." She opened the door wider, and stepped back. "You can come in if you want to," she said.

"Thanks," Cherokee said, and followed her inside.

Witch Baby's apartment didn't look like she'd expected. There were the usual things that Cherokee remembered from the days when they'd shared a bedroom. A drumset sat in one corner, and framed black and white photographs covered the walls. One door was covered with newspaper clippings -- Cherokee knew at once that it was Witch Baby's room. But colorful posters from beautiful Japanese cartoons were mingled with the photographs, and one wall was dominated by a large, cubist painting that Cherokee had never seen before. An orange Indian spread covered the couch, and Stuffed animals sat amongst the pillows on the it. Books were everywhere: on the shelves, on the floor, piled on the coffee table. A few wilting houseplants sat in the windowsill, and the apartment smelled faintly of Nag Champa. All in all, the apartment wasn't nearly as full of gloom and doom as she'd expected. Cherokee wondered if that were Julie's influence, or if her sister was softening in college.

"Do you want some coffee?" Julie asked.

"Yes, please," Cherokee said, even though she didn't drink coffee very often. She was exhausted from driving; she felt like she might fall asleep. She followed Julie into the kitchen, taking in the red vinyl chairs, the scuffed wood table, and the shelves full of dishes. Julie poured some coffee into a mug, then poured a second cup for herself.

"Cream or sugar?" she asked.

Cherokee nodded, and Julie pulled a bottle of organic milk from the fridge and pointed to a jar of raw sugar on the counter. They fixed their coffee and returned to the living room. Cherokee sat on one end of the sofa, and Julie settled on the other. They watched each otherly, equally curious.

"How long have you known Lily?" Cherokee asked.

At the same time, Julie said, "Lily didn't say you'd be in town."

They laughed, grinning at each other. _Who would have guessed that Witch Baby would live with someone so friendly?_, Cherokee thought.

"Lily and I met at a concert last year," Julie said. "We moved in together at the start of the term."

"That's neat." Cherokee sipped her cofee. "I didn't tell her I was coming," she said. "It was kind of a surprise trip." She looked down at her coffee, afraid that Julie would ask her _why_ she'd come. Fortunately, the door to the apartment opened then, distracting both of them.

Witch Baby stepped inside, wearing heavy engineer's boots, torn jeans, and a leather motercycle jacket that Cherokee recognized from Weetzie's closet. She was still shaving her head, and her face glittered with piercings: a spike through her bottom lip, a stud in her right nostril, a bar in her left eyebrow, and rows of thick rings running up the edge of each ear. Despite the shaved head and the piercings, the boots and the jacket, she still looked tiny, like a punk pixie. Cherokee remembered the wings she'd once made for her sister, and wondered how they'd look rising up from her shoulders, amidst all of the leather and steel. Witch Baby smiled at Julie, opening her mouth to say something, but then she saw Cherokee, and her jaw dropped.

"What are you doing here?"

Cherokee smiled shakily. She suddenly felt ready to cry. She opened her mouth to explain, but couldn't find the words. Witch Baby glanced at Julie, as though she might explain it, and then shook her head.

"Raphael called me this morning," Witch Baby said. "I didn't even know he had my number. He's a nervous wreck. And I just got off the phone with Weetzie. She knows you're missing, and she's terrified. What's going on?"

Cherokee did start crying then, and she shook her head, unable to speak. Witch Baby stared at her, befuddled. Julie lay a hand on her shoulder.

"Did you two fight?" Witch Baby asked.

Cherokee shook her head. "No," she sobbed. "I . . . I'm pregnant."

"Lanky lizards," Witch Baby said, her purple eyes wide. Julie swallowed, then leaned forward and retrieved a box of Kleenex from the coffee table. Cherokee took one gratefully. Witch Baby shook her head, looking befuddled.

"Does Raphael know?" she asked. Cherokee nodded, and Witch Baby frowned. "Does Weetzie?"

"Don't tell her," Cherokee said, dabbing at her eyes with the Kleenex Julie handed her. "I'm not ready to tell her yet."

Witch Baby shook her head, looking dubious. "You'll have to tell her someday," she said.

"I know," Cherokee said. "Just . . . not yet."

Witch Baby shrugged, and dropped onto the armchair across from the sofa. "What are you going to do?" she asked.

"I don't know," Cherokee said. "I'm trying to figure things out."

Witch Baby looked at Julie. Julie looked at Witch Baby. After a second, Witch Baby shrugged. "You can stay here, I guess," she said. "For a little while."

* * *

Before long, Julie headed off to campus, and Witch Baby started getting ready for her shift at the camera shop where she worked.

"You can hang out here," she told Cherokee. "We've got food. Cereal and stuff. Nothing much. There are takeout menues on the fridge, though. If you need to, you can crash on my bed."

Cherokee tried to hug her, but Witch Baby bared her teeth and shrugged away from her, like she had when they were kids. Cherokee laughed. For the moment, even that piece of normalcy felt comforting.

"Thanks, Witch Baby," she said, leaning against the wall.

Witch Baby shrugged. "I'll be back later," she said, and left.

Alone in the apartment, Cherokee felt at loose ends. She circled the living room for a little while, looking at the photographs on the walls. She recognized a few of them. In one photo, Dirk and Duck danced together in front of an antique window. In another, My Secret Agent Lover Man frowned into the lens of his video camera, not realizing that Witch Baby was taking a picture of him. Cherokee saw Weetzie and Brandy Lynn, Ping and Valentine, and several blurry photos of Angel Juan Perez. Then, from out of the sea of photographs, Cherokee saw a familiar smile that made her heart jump in her throat. Raphael beamed up at the camera, his guitar nestled in the crook of his arm. Cherokee swallowed. She kissed her fingertip and touched it to the picture, wondering, for a second, how she could possibly have left without telling him. Blinking back tears, she stumbled into the kitchen.

There, at least, it was easier to think. There were some dirty dishes in the sink, so she washed them, and left them in the strainer to dry. She thought about making dinner, but a quick glance through the cupboards showed that Witch Baby was right -- they didn't have a lot on hand. The fridge was empty, save for a few condiments and some scary-looking leftover pizza, and the cupboards were full of canned soup and Top Ramen. Cherokee shook her head, feeling appalled -- what on earth did they eat? In the end, Cherokee poured herself a bowl of cereal, and resolved to buy them some groceries in the morning.

After washing her cereal bowl, Cherokee dared to check her cell phone. She had seventeen new messages: ten from Raphael, four from Weetzie, one from Dirk, one from Duck, and one from My Secret Agent Lover Man. All of them said the same thing: _We love you. We're worried about you. Where are you? Are you coming home?_

Cherokee swallowed. She thought about calling Raphael. Then, she thought about writing to him. In the end, she decided against doing either one. Yawning, she decided to take a nap.

* * *

Cherokee and Witch Baby had shared a room once, when their family had lived in the little cottage that Dirk had inherited from his grandma, Fifi. When they were teenagers, though, their family had moved into a larger house in Laurel Canyon. Cherokee and Witch Baby had gotten their own rooms then, and naturally, they'd forbid each other to set foot inside them. Cherokee felt a little strange stepping into Witch Baby's room -- especially since she knew she had permission.

Witch Baby's bedroom looked exactly the same as it always had. The walls were covered with newspaper clippings: murders, rapes, robberies, wars . . . a collage of sadness, a ransom-note poem of tragedy. The clippings had made Cherokee cry when they shared a room. She'd never understood how Witch Baby could sleep surrounded by so much pain. The unplugged globe lamp sat in one corner. Cherokee wondered when My Secret had given it to Witch Baby. On the desk, the corner of an iBook peeked out from piled newspapers, spiral notebooks, and photographs. Black clothes littered the floor. A framed photo of Angel Juan stood on the dresser. Cherokee glanced at it, feeling like an intruder. But then she yawned again, reminding herself how tired she was after a night without sleep and a day of driving. Shimmying out of her jeans, Cherokee crawled into bed.

At first, she could only stare at the ceiling. Between the coffee and her fears, she felt as jittery as a charm bracelet dangling skeletons. Newspaper clippings swam in front of her eyes, and she couldn't stop thinking about the future. Could she and Raphael raise the baby by themselves in Santa Barbara, she wondered, or would they need to move back to LA to be near their families? When she closed her eyes, she imagined a tiny, fish-like creature swimming inside her. Cherokee stroked her stomach. She wondered if it was as nervous and afraid as she was.

"Hey, kiddo," she whispered. "You sure had bad timing coming into this world. I love you, though. I'm going to take care of you the best I can."

When she finally drifted to sleep, she dreamt that she was rowing a boat over a sea of newspaper clippings, while Raphael searched for her on the shore.

* * *

The sound of typing woke her. Cherokee stretched and rubbed her eyes. Witch Baby sat at her desk, working at her iBook. Aside from its soft light, the room was dark.

"Hey," Cherokee mumbled, sitting up. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table: it was two in the morning.

"Hey," Witch Baby said, not looking up from the computer.

"Do you need to sleep?" Cherokee asked. "I can move to the couch."

Witch Baby shrugged. "I never go to bed before three."

"What are you working on?"

"A paper." Witch Baby typed for a few more minutes, then turned in her chair. "Have you called Raphael yet?"

Cherokee shook her head.

"You should."

"I know." Cherokee sat up in bed, leaning against the newspaper-covered wall. "Do you talk to Angel Juan much?" she asked.

Witch Baby's shoulders tightened. "Sometimes," she said. "He wants me to move back to LA."

"Why don't you?" For a second, Cherokee thought she'd gone to far to ask that question. Witch Baby glared at her, and the silence stretched on between them for several minutes. Cherokee was nearly ready to apologize, when her sister sighed.

"I used to think that I'd never be happy until I fell in love," she said. "I used to be so jealous of you and Raphael. I thought I'd never find something like that. Then Angel Juan came, and he was everything I'd been dreaming of. When we were together, I stopped being angry. I stopped being afraid. Then he went back to Mexico, and all of those old feelings came back again."

"He came back," Cherokee offered softly. Her heart ached for Witch Baby. She remembered those early years, all of the days she'd spent joined at the hip with Raphael. She'd never spared a glance for her sister in those days. She'd never wondered what Witch Baby might be feeling.

"He came back," Witch Baby echoed. "He came back after I spent years wondering if he'd found somebody else. And then he went to New York." She shook her head, and glared up at Cherokee. "I'm tired of chasing after him," she said. "I'm tired of wondering whether or not he's going to come back. This time, he can come looking for me." She sighed, and some of the anger left her voice. "I need to know that I can be happy without him," she said.

Daring greatly, Cherokee leaned forward in bed and rested a hand on her sister's shoulder. Witch Baby's purple eyes fastened on her.

"What about you?" she asked. "What are you doing here?"

"I don't know."

Witch Baby rolled her eyes. "Bullshit."

"I was scared!" Cherokee said. "I'm too young to be pregnant!"

"You could get rid of it," Witch Baby said.

Cherokee swallowed. "I've thought of it," she said.

Witch Baby rested her cheek on the back of the chair. For a second, her voice went soft. "Sometimes, I think it would have been better if Vixanne had gotten an abortion," she said.

"Don't say that!"

Witch Baby scowled. "Well wouldn't it have been? Why bring a baby that nobody wants into the world?"

"Weetzie wanted you!" Cherokee protested. "Why do you think she kept you?"

Witch Baby turned back around to face the wall. The set of her back and shoulders made it clear that she wasn't going to answer Cherokee.

The silence stretched between them for a long time. Finally, Cherokee said, "I think I realized why I came here." Witch Baby stared at her iBook screen, but Cherokee kept talking. "I think I needed to see how strong you are," she said.

Witch Baby snorted.

"It's true!" Cherokee said. "It takes courage to be up here by yourself." She sighed. "I've been scared," she said. "Even before I found out I was pregnant. I've been scared since Weetzie ran off to that hotel."

"That didn't have anything to do with you," Witch Baby said. "That was between Weetzie and My Secret."

"I know." Cherokee picked at the bedspread. "When we were kids, everybody talked about how much I looked like Weetzie," she said. "We've always been so much alike. I think I was worried about turning out like her, about spending my life taking care of other people, and then turning forty and realizing that I'd forgotten to take care of myself."

"You _are_ good at taking care of other people," Witch Baby said softly. "You took care of me, when I was hiding in the mud."

"I was afraid that you were never going to come out," Cherokee said.

Witch Baby shrugged. "You pulled me out," she said. "You gave me wings and made me fly."

"And look how that turned out."

"You were young," Witch Baby said. "You're older now. Maybe you're old enough to build some wings for yourself. Or some boots. Or some goat pants." She shrugged.

Cherokee smiled. "I think I'd better start with some maternity clothes," she said.

* * *

Raphael answered the phone on the first ring. His voice sounded strained with fear.

"Hello?"

"It's me," Cherokee said.

"Baby! You scared me to death! Where are you?"

"I'm at Witch Baby's. I was --"

"Scared," Raphael finished. "I am too. We're in this together, though, Cherokee. You know that I'll be here for you no matter what."

"I know," Cherokee said.

"When are you coming home?" Raphael asked.

"Tomorrow morning," Cherokee said. "Witch Baby is showing me around San Francisco today."

"I'll be waiting for you," Raphael said.

They talked for a few more minutes before they hung up. Then, Cherokee took a deep breath and dialed Weetzie's cell phone.

"Guess what?" she said.

Finis.


End file.
